


Ready to fight (for you)

by madhatt



Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madhatt/pseuds/madhatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots with Henry and Frank (though mostly Henry), as the main characters. Most of them are the revisited and revised versions of fics I posted on tumblr last couple of years, but maybe there will be also some new ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your home is where your cat is

The first time it happened, Henry thought it was just some weird coincidence. Or a joke. It _could_ be a joke, though he wasn't sure who exactly would do that to him. It was Sunday, six in the morning, when someone rang his doorbell persistently. Annoyed to be woken up so early,  almost at night, according to his own body, with a groan and a silent curse, he went to open the door, ready to yell or punch if he only had to. Instead he found an old creased box standing on his doorstep.

There was a small kitten inside.

It was black and white, really young, and ridiculously adorable. Attached to the side of the box was a small, messy note. _He_ _needs a good home_ , it read. Henry wasn't sure why, but without analysing it too much, despite thinking that maybe it was all a dream (or maybe because of that), he simply picked up the box, petted the kitten's trembling head and took him inside.

He named the cat Skull. He gave it the best home he could.

  
  


The second time, he found a similar box standing on his bed.

He went out for no more than five minutes - he ran out of the cat food – and when he was back, the box was already there, three pairs of absurdly green eyes looking at him with interest. He looked right back at them in confusion and with a rising doze of panic. He wasn't sure what puzzled him more, the fact that someone would enter his house only to leave a small litter of cats on his bed, or the question of how they even did that in such a short time, and if leaving the cats was the only reason for this distressing visit. It was entirely possible, that he would get killed in a few seconds.

He shook his head to get rid of that thought. He focused on the cats.

The kittens were all black as the void and, according to the note – which was as messy as the first one – needed a friend.

Henry named them Lock, Stock and Barrel, and hoped he knew how to be a good friend.

  
  


Whenever he looked at the cats, Henry thought of his father and that horrifying day from the days past. He remembered those poor kittens from years back, in the kitchen sink, and all over again cried for them and for his own younger self who just couldn't look away from this heartbreaking atrocity. He lost a lot of innocence that day and hated both his father and himself for that.

Maybe it was a mistake after all, to take the cats in and decide to care for them.

Instead of giving them away, as he considered for a moment there, he waited. And waited. And soon as the days and nights passed, and he spent time off work with those furrballs, watching four small animals roam around his house began to calm him, pushing out the memory of one of the worst days of his life and creating new ones.

  
  


The third time he was almost expecting it to happen.  Whenever he came back home from work, the whole afternoon he waited for another box to mysteriously appear somewhere in his house, while he was not looking. For days nothing happened. He worked daily and took care of his four cats, but nothing unusual followed. He was falling into a rhythm, still lined with curiosity, but almost domestically regular, when finally it did happen.

It was the middle of the night, he was doing his best to forget about the mess his life was, and instead fall asleep, with Skull, Lock, Stock and Barrel curled all around him, occupying most of the bed and forcing Henry to move to the furthest edge of the bed. But he didn't mind that, he had become too attached to the little rascals. That, and also he was too exhausted after the whole day of working at the domestic violence shelter. So he just wanted to sleep for the next ten days or so. He was beginning to slowly drift off, when through the fog clouding his mind he heard footsteps down the hall, approaching his bedroom. He relaxed involuntarily. He knew those steps all too well.

When Frank entered his room, Henry was barely conscious. Still he felt it when something was placed on the pillow right next to him. Something that nuzzled his face and mewled quietly. A cat.

A rough hand gently stroked his hair. Then he heard a whisper.

“He needs a family. And he couldn't have it better than with you.”

 


	2. Too big to be the big spoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble written for a very good friend.
> 
> Henry is hurt and Frank feels guilty. There is also some comforting involved.

When it came to Frank Castle, sporadic displays of affection were neither planned nor expected. Sure, they sometimes occurred, always without any preamble, leaving Henry completely baffled. Mostly because with all the certainty he had that the Punisher actually cared for him, despite how rocky their relationship was most of the time, he expected not one sign of affection coming from Frank. Henry suspected they surprised Frank just as much – he seemed taken aback whenever he realized he was still capable of transpiring human impulses and actually reached out to Henry. Still, Henry wasn’t complaining. Maybe he wasn’t exactly starved for affection – his father taught him to live without it – but he certainly appreciated shows of friendly sentiment, no matter how few and far between.

That one night however, Henry learnt it was much harder to enjoy displays of care when one was bruised, battered and hurting.

Just hours earlier, the job Frank insisted on taking had very fast taken a very bad turn. It was a certainty for the Punisher to suffer from the wounds and pain and loss of blood, but Henry... Henry was supposed to stay safe and intact. It wasn’t something they talked about, but it was what they both knew was important for their professional relationship to function. It wasn't as important for Henry, even if he preferred to stay clear of any and all the unnecessary dangers to his life. But for the Punisher it seemed crucial Henry avoided the fate of his previous partners and didn't end up injured. Or even worse – no matter how vehemently Frank refused to admit that – hating the Punisher. Henry couldn't blame him. Maybe the ruthless Punisher was good at hiding it, but he did have a heart capable of getting hurt.

So far Henry managed to stay relatively safe. This last job however, his luck had run out. This time the danger extended its claws, grasped Henry and pulled him right into the centre of its explosion of violence.

By the time they made it to the safe house, Henry was a sum of cuts and scratches and gunshot wounds. But most importantly, he was alive.

“I can't believe I'm alive,” he whispered. Yes, he was shaking and the only thing he felt was numbing pain, but at the same time there was an unmistakeable wave of thrilling happiness in his heart. It was a liberating thing to feel.

Frank didn’t seem to share the sentiment.

Henry looked down at the other man. Frank was cleaning the cuts on his partner's arms. His hands were surprisingly gentle. Still the muscles in his body were tense, his mouth was set in a stern line and his eyes were two pools of pain and disappointment. He was disappointed in himself, Henry just knew that.

“It’s not your fault, you know. I should’ve known they’d be expecting us. I was careless.”

The glare Frank sent his way was positively cold and made it clear the older man wasn’t discussing the matter. Henry accepted that, albeit reluctantly. Frank wouldn't have any qualms pointing out all of his slips and mistakes any other time.

For another two hours he watched Frank work on all the different wounds. Some of them were deep, some merely scratches; some hurt to the point Henry thought he would faint, others he didn’t even feel. All of them Frank gave the same amount of attention and care. By the time Frank was finished, Henry was almost asleep. Frank’s hands on him were soothing and the comfortable silence between them calming. Even though sometimes he complained about it, Henry liked Frank’s quietness.

He was barely aware of Frank gently moving him so he could lie down on the bed. The moment his tormented body felt the cool touch of sheets, Henry fell asleep.

When he woke up hours later, he felt horrible. Not only every inch of his body hurt and itched, he was also ridiculously hot, to the point that he was sweating. And he couldn’t move an inch. After analysing whatever he could with his eyes still closed, he realized with a start there were arms around him. Frank’s arms. The older and much bigger man – Henry felt that now even more than usually – was crushing him against his body, Henry’s back to Frank’s chest, and it didn’t seem like he was going to move any time soon. Henry felt his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest, as he inhaled deeply and evenly. Henry’s eyes snapped open in shock and he felt his cheeks burn. He didn’t even know how it happened, but there was no mistaking it – Frank was _spooning_ him.

The thought was more than ridiculous.

Henry would actually enjoy the rare display of affection, only if he wasn’t so _uncomfortable_. The body that he was sure could feel warm and safe, with his current condition was instead making him too hot and was taking all the space, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to get up and move to the other side of the room.

Still, it would mean leaving Frank, and Henry wasn't sure he was ready for that.

After only a mere second of thinking, Henry made a quick decision. As delicately and swiftly as he could, he moved Frank’s heavy arms and slipped away. Then he climbed over the bulk of Frank’s body, wincing at the feeling of the stitches pulling at his wounds, and settled behind the older man, circling his middle with his own arms. He nuzzled Frank between his shoulder blades and yawned. Now he was comfortable.

“Henry?”

Frank’s voice formed an obvious question, but Henry didn’t feel like answering. He was content and sleepy, and he didn’t care about a thing. But he forced himself to reply anyway.

“You are too big to be the big spoon,” he mumbled, not sure if he was even making any sense. It could’ve been the lack of sleep, or the drugs Frank stuffed him full of.

Frank only grunted in reply. Then he covered Henry’s hand with his own.

Henry's mind once again drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned in the summary, maybe I'll find the time and mood to write some more oneshots. If anyone's interested in reading more, feel free to request a Henry, Frank or Frank/Henry fic, I'll be happy to write it ^^


End file.
